


never thought that i could be (happy)

by Mx_Carter



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Blindfolds, Breathplay, Dom Napoleon, Domme Gaby, Light Bondage, Multi, Sub Illya, Threesome - F/M/M, fluff & sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5545625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Carter/pseuds/Mx_Carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been too long since they've had time for this, and Illya could die from how much he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never thought that i could be (happy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catsaremyboyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsaremyboyfriend/gifts).



> (i blame cats)  
> my first porn, and it's 60's kinky threesome porn. go big or go home, amirite? concrit will be well received, and may be necessary.
> 
> Title from Happy by Marina and the Diamonds

"Sir...Fr- Frau...please..."

He is floating, right now, but not pleasantly - like this he needs them with him, needs anchors and they are _not here_ , they're standing over him somewhere far, far away and he needs them, he needs their hands, voices, he needs...

"Shall we then, flower of my soul?" - Sir's voice is light and rough all at once, silk over too-sensitive skin somewhere over his head, and the part of Illya's mind that still _can_ curses the blindfold they wrapped so tightly over his eyes, curses the complete lack of any point of focus, curses them-

"Ah, we might as well. He's far too pretty to say no to." That's _her,_ and they are discussing him, as if he were nothing more than a toy for the two of them to play with, and he'd object but are they not right?

Suddenly there are small, steel-strong hands guiding him to his feet and he could almost cry it feels so good, so fantastically good to have Frau's hand's on him, nails digging in hard, little points of pain to cling to. He's being pulled upright, puppet on string, and she pushes him into Sir's bulky heat before pressing against his back and oh, after nothing but the scrape of carpet and the steady barely-there touch of the blindfold...This is too much, the bone-deep warmth of Frau plastered to his back, the solid, binding pressure of Sir's arm around his shoulders, holding him tight, his other hand making shivery sparks where it is running through his hair - like fire, like his whole world has been set ablaze, like he has walked from darkness straight into a burning building. From a distance, he can hear himself whimper.

The hand in his hair moves to his cheek, palming at the wetness that has seeped below the blindfold. "Shush now, sweetheart, we're right here," Sir tells him, and he wants to say _I know_ but words are not coming easily right now, and he will probably be ordered not to speak soon anyway.

Except for sounds. Those are always allowed.

Against his back, Frau hisses into his skin. "We'll have time for being nice later, Solo. Right now..." She trails off to sink small hard teeth into his muscle, and the next noise he makes is a groan. Sir smiles against his lips.

"Point taken, my angel of light."

Suddenly he is half-pushed, half-thrown face-down on the bed, and the shock of cool sheets explodes across his front, like ice after all that heat. His body almost resists on instinct, but they follow him down; Sir's hands on his wrists, Frau's digging warningly into his vertebrae. He stills, relaxes, remembers that he doesn't have to fight right now.

Frau's hands still rest on the back of his neck, but softer now, more of a caress. Silk sheets rustle just above his head, and then the hands are replaced by more silk, a smooth circuit around his neck. She tugs, almost playfully, and Sir's grip on his wrists tighten when he shudders.

"Be careful with that, will you? Neither of us want him actually damaged."

"You're not the only one who know what they're doing, American." Frau's voice is warm, and the vicious little tug he gets for that is warmer still. His head is being raised, he realises, just as she slides her hips underneath it, and his face is lowered gently into the animal heat of her. Frau runs a hand gently through his hair, fingers skimming the edge of his face, before giving his head a push into her and, yes, he know what she wants. This is good.

He gets to work, spurred on by the occasional, erratic tugs on his leash, and behind him, Sir sucks in a breath. "God help me," he murmurs, before moving off him. He can't place Sir for a few seconds, but then a muscled thigh presses against his shoulder, and he hears the slick sounds of them kissing over the slick sounds of his own work. If he could just see them...

Soon enough, Frau pushes Sir away. "Shoo," and he feels proud, for a second, of the roughness in her voice, "you had plans, remember?"

"That I did," Sir replies, and then is gone. He does try not to whine at his absence, but Frau must notice, as she chooses that moment to tug on the leash so hard, he simply stops breathing.

By the time she is loosening it again Sir has returned, and the sudden shock of slick fingers sliding into him, two at once, makes him growl. Above him, Frau gasps and pulls tight, and his face is suddenly coated in wetness as she comes, hips jerking upwards, grinding into his face. She has not ordered him to stop so he keeps working, though he is slowly becoming more and more distracted by Sir's fingers in him. Three now, and he feels so full - strange that he never notices the emptiness until one of them fills it - so full, and yet if he could just have one more...

When all three fingers leave him with a shocking suddenness, he wants to cry. If Frau was not there, devolving into gasps and moans, hips still rocking up into his face, he actually might. Then Sir's hand is curling over his hip, nails slowly raking over his skin and leaving white-hot trails. "Deep breaths now, sweet thing," he hears, and then Sir settles behind him.

Frau comes again as Sir begins to push into him, and honestly, he's not sure how far behind he will be. No-one told him he could not come, but perhaps they simply forgot, or he didn't notice, or... The pressure and slide of Sir into him stops the thoughts spinning outwards, and he takes a deep breath against Frau, inhaling salt and warmth, as Sir settles all the way inside him. If he wasn't meant to come, they would have told him so, clearly, made sure he heard and understood. He doesn't need to worry about that right now.

When Sir starts to move, finally, he honestly thinks he will weep. The friction of it, even with copious lubricant, the constant stretch. Sir isn't even going fast - he cannot remember him ever being this slow, even their (his) first time. Every thrust is long and deliberate, and so _deep_. He's babbling, and he cannot stop, cannot halt the flow of Russian, German, English, every language he knows, pleading and gasping against Frau. He barely notices how tight she has pulled his leash until it is released, quite suddenly, and everything overflows, a wave of bright tension and bliss sweeping him up.

He comes down to find Sir still moving, faster and faster. Everything is too much, exploding too fast underneath his skin, but he breathes through the rush and manages to clench on Sir. He gets more wonderful scratches for his trouble, electric sparks down his spine, and he is almost fully hard again by the time Sir tenses, sinks teeth deep into his shoulder and comes, shuddering.

For a few second they remain still - Sir a pleasant, grounding weight on him, Frau still taking shuddering breaths, hips jerking occasionally against his face - she has come again, he thinks. Then Sir begins to slide out of him, so gently he almost wants to scream, and he is soon horribly empty again. He is shaking, he realises, and then Frau is moving down his body until she is resting where Sir was, and Sir has moved to her place and is stroking hands over his neck, murmuring endearments - _sweetheart, Illyusha, our precious boy_ – even as Frau sinks three fingers into him. His eyes roll back in his head; she's not anywhere near as large as Sir, but she has such clever hands, and soon he is gasping as if the air between them is gone thin, gasping and sobbing into Sir's thigh as he comes.

When Frau pulls her fingers out, she proceeds to drape herself over his back, rubbing her face up against him like a happy cat. He is drifting now, loose and coming down, and it is so peaceful in his head, so calm and still. Distantly he feels Sir leave the bed – not before running a hand through his hair and saying "One moment, sweetheart" (that takes a while to filter from sounds to words). Frau speaks to him, and Sir speaks back, but it's just noise, noise and the vibrations of her speaking warming his bones. Soon enough Sir returns, and he and Frau roll him so they can pull the soiled sheet from underneath him and settle him back, on his front now. Then there are warm cloths wiping over his face and his stomach, and warm bodies settling on either side of him, running hands over him and telling him how good he was, how much they love him.

Slowly, Illya comes back to himself.

When he reaches up and curls his hands around Napoleon's and Gaby's, Gaby reaches up to his face and curls fingers around the material of the blindfold. When he nods, she removes it, and he squints against the lamplight. Napoleon is already sliding off the tie they'd used as a leash. Both of them press kisses against his bared skin.

"Alright, liebling?" Gaby asks him, and he nods. Yes. He is alright.

Then there are macaroons, freshly bought and mostly for him, though his partners' light hands take quite a few for themselves. There is light, sleepy, loving banter, as familiar as making a fist, and Gaby punching Napoleon because he called her 'fairest goddess of the pantheon of my heart', and a slow, sweet slide into sleep while Gaby snores against his collarbone and Napoleon runs hands through their hair, a look of gentle reverence on his face.

Maybe he is not alright, then. Too small a word. Maybe he is perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> for the light of my life, Cats. merry christmas, ya filthy animal. have some shitty, belated porn.  
> i tried, babe. i'm sorry.


End file.
